Child of the Force
by Jinna
Summary: The Temple. A woman in search of a forgotten past. A Jedi Master vessel of the will of the Force. Destiny and its mysterious path.


**CHILD OF THE FORCE**   
  


**Chronology**: Pre-TPM/during TPM   
**Rating**: PG-13 for mild sexual situation   
**Disclaimer**: All the rights belong to the 'Flannelled One'. What drives me to violate his sacred soil is certainly not profit but the impossible and hopeless love for the archetype of 'malekind': Qui-Gon Jinn.   
**A particular thank** goes to my beta reader Eleia (may the Force support her in such a hell of a task ;) and to the Asturian magic of Hevia: his bagpipes have inspired the 'breath' of the Temple.   
**Note of the author**: Noor is not a fictitious name but an Arabic word that, like many others in that language, blends phonetic and semantic softness. It means: light.   
  


The Temple. Sometimes I think that its walls breathe. And transpire truth. Halls immersed in a timeless quiet, where also the echo seems to yield to mysterious and elusive laws. For me the closest thing to a home…

_It will be a hard life.One without remorse, without regret_. But even Jedi have their own 'regrets'. The innocent victims of chain reactions triggered by some Knight during a mission. Or victims of crimes committed by renegades of the Order. 'Children of the Force'. That's the way detractors or just ignorants call us. Brought into the Temple when the fate has cut every root off. When there is no place for us outside these walls. When the responsible and compassionate protection of the Jedi is made substitute of the warm maternal embrace.   
Nevertheless there is no hatred, there is the Force.   
No. We do not hate the Knights. The Case plays dice with the fate of the creatures of the galaxy. We are only a lost stake.   
Still, buried in our hearts, there is hate for the Force. We, 'stowaways' of the Temple. Present, but not part of the symbiotic circle that embraces all the legitimate dwellers of this place: Masters, Padawan, Healers, Knights, even the youngest Initiates of the nursery.   
When we come to age we are allowed to leave the Temple and find a way. OUR way. Nothing we lack: education, knowledge, even some element of self-defense.   
Yet hardly anybody chooses 'freedom'.   
We keep on depending on this source of knowledge, peace and power without ever succeeding in quenching our thirst. Because we do not know how drawing on. And we will never know. Yes, it seems that also the walls breathe. But I feel suffocated.

§

Fifteen years in the Temple. I can't remember the dramatic event that opened its doors to me. Neither whose hand was the one the Force led toward that little injured body. Nobody has ever dared to hurt me with the blade of the memories. Better this way. The tie of dependence and gratitude can end up choking. And here not even the brightest of the Initiates can claim privileged or exclusive bonds. That would break the community spirit that permeates the life of the Temple. Yes, maybe it's better this way...

Fifteen years of study. Terrible, exhausting, excessive. A hopeless race for a knowledge that I knew I couldn't have found on the databases. Longing for gratifying those Masters who seemed to communicate with the others, the 'elect', with a simple look. I could 'sense' their silent exchanges with a spellbound frustration... a deaf who tries to interpret an unknown language from the movements of the lips.   
Fifteen years of pathetic experiments of telekinesis, carried out safe from the day light, when night would bear sighs of sleep and dreams.

Envy. How could I deny? Envy for children I shared the games with but not the fate. Young creatures with an adult sense of their destiny. For me, child of the Force, the destiny seemed to have already put all its cards on the table. And rage. Uncontrollable outbreaks. Hardly ever censured, to tell the truth. Tolerated with an impressive unfold of Jedi patience. Obviously my shoulders were not burdened with the responsibility that a full mastery of the Force implied. Even less my fall to the Dark Side could have compromised its balance.

"Great anger in you. But your suffering soothe it will not. For a long time watched you I have. A great destiny you pursue. But ready to embrace it are you?" That time I succeeded in troubling even the venerable Master Yoda. The bleeding nose of a young Initiate had made his intervention necessary.   
Half-closed eyes, the little elf had scanned my face with chilling intensity. I perfectly knew that I couldn't hide from his mind probe the offense for the affront, the feeling of guilt, the horror at the sight of blood... But those had been the only words uttered by the old Master. And with an unintellegible growl he had dismissed me. My first encounter with the personification of the Jedi wisdom had ended in a bath of shame. Only the darkness of my room managed to damp my sobs. And the light of my dreams. That place of my mind where I had learned to shelter in times of despair. Place of illusions so real as to take my breath away. Of hugs so warm as to induce a sweet and soothing sleep.

Fifteen years of work attending the needs and the logistics of the Temple. It consists in activities that involve all the youth with rotating shifts and no status exceptions. Equal among equals, finally. When tidying up a room as well as waiting at the tables in the dining hall; when taking care of the gardens or cooking in the kitchen. Droids could certainly apply themselves to these tasks. But it's the 'exercise of humility' the educational goal of this work distribution. Strange enough, in carrying out routine duties I find and have always found peace. By 'exercising humility' I smooth the sharpness of my nature and free my mind. I nearly manage to make myself appreciated. I was told it's a genetic quality that emerges in spite of all my intemperances. I do not know whether I should be proud of it. But… well, I guess I am indebted to those who passed the genes on to me. Because thanks to these qualities I have found the force to live and keep on living in the Temple.

§

HE is like a silent wind. Strides forwards in the wide hallways, hostile to every sound. But air whirls all around. It brushes against my face and soon resumes dancing on the folds of his robe.   
It's difficult to meet him in the Temple. Requests of mediation and screams of injustice drive him to the farthest corners of the galaxy.   
He appears all of a sudden, as though he could hide his figure in the folds of the space-time. He lightly moves on his long legs. Suddenly he stops, a reassuring hand resting on the shoulders of his Padawan. Turns slightly his head, a piercing glance in the eyes, as if listening to a whisper of the Force. Then he starts walking again and vanishes with the gentle evanescence of an angel of the moons of Iego.   
I fold my arms accross my chest and struggle to stop the tunic leaping. _Please, don't let him sense me, don't let him sense my emotions. _But even the walls seems to vibrate with the rhytmical crash of my heart.

I loved him from the very moment he took a seat among us, children of the Force and young Initiates, for a series of lessons about the meaning of the living Force.   
I had been in the Temple just for a few months. A blank page which time had to rewrite the story of a whole life on. The hands of the Healers had lingered long over my wounds, but just the outward ones had had a benign course. The void that had swallowed my memories seemed to have sucked my words too, wiped out by some unspeakable horror.   
This stubborn silence had slowly broken up with the months going by. Names would eventually resurface, like pumice on the sea, and with them the ability to associate and the clearness of mind.   
I recovered the mood for playing. And through that the ability to interact with the other children. Then the 'school', the first lessons. The way to the adults, to the Masters who took care of our education with serene firmness.   
But nobody would be like him. That became clear in the very moment he set foot in that classroom.

We had been told that Master Qui-Gon Jinn, on Coruscant for a period of rest and meditation, would deliver a series of lessons to the classes of the Temple.   
The sensation that I associate with that first encounter is a sensation of… fullness. From that day on only his presence has been able to stir it up.   
Is a 9 year old child able to love? Maybe I was merely looking for a fatherly figure long lost in the mist of my memory. But those eyes, gray and blue iridescence, seemed to hold all the answers I was searching. Or simply made vain my questions.   
Everything about him inspired confidence and protection. His bearing. His smile, bridled on the lips to be released through the glance. His voice, warm like a kiss hardly touhed on.   
I watched my fellow students, felt their excitement. I knew what they dreamt, what they aimed at. Qui-Gon Jinn was a Master without apprentice. Maybe, one day, he would choose one of them...   
For the first time after my arrival at the Temple I became aware of my diversity and of all the chances that would preclude.

§

Fiftheen years of concealed, mortified, hopeless love. But indomitable. Grown up with the child who had meekly followed its call. Nourished by the reckless adolescent impulses. Inflamed by the discovery of the body and its piercing drives. Sealed by the coming of maturity with its painful burden of broken hopes.   
Long waitings for him coming back from his missions. When the fear of loosing him would give way to the worry of being seen, discovered, derided.   
How many covert glances, stolen moments… And the deep distress brought about by 'lack'. Lack of his embrace, of the wrapping inflection of his voice. Lack of _him_.   
With the only solace of the darkness of my room and the hypnotic light of my dreams.

I've been watching Qui-Gon fighting and defeating his ghosts. The marks of suffering on his face increasing with each struggle. I've been watching him picking out a new Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, a different, indefinable expression lighting up his eyes. Master and apprentice, two notes of the same melody: I still go into raptures at this… perfection. As if the Force projects its deep sense of peace and beauty in their acts.   
I've been watching him come and go, and beat the rhythm of my emotional tides with his incessant wandering.   
But just a few times I managed to get so close to him as to smell the scent of his skin and feel the warmth of his breath…

…That night I was on duty in the dining hall. Qui-Gon, back from a year long mission, was sitting in front of a large transparisteel window, speaking softly with his apprentice while gazing at the lights of the endless city.   
With the aid of Ti-eela, a Twi'lek gently featured 'child of the Force', I managed to make my way to the stoves. The 'genes of home life' had promptly got down to work together with the most powerful contribution of adrenaline ever produced by my body. And indeed they didn't fail me.   
Slipping my two 'guests' notice I served them their meal. The inviting smell and the fanciful trimmings clashed with the usual monotony of the canteen food.   
I didn't wait any longer and immediately took shelter in the kitchen. Ti'eela's puzzled eyes followed me curling up behind the workbench, my emotions scattered all around like petals stirred by wind.   
The shrill rebuke of the young Twi'lek recalled me to my duties.   
_And now? How shall I get the heart to get back into the 'lions den'?_   
I tried to play for time hoping that Qui-Gon and his Padawan would leave before my presence was needed in that area of the hall. But both men seemed to linger on a quiet talk.   
_Blast Qui-Gon, don't do that to me!_   
The tables next to the large window slowly emptied. Ti-eela was waiting with folded arms in front of the dishwasher, her two long 'lekku' twitching nervously.   
_OK, I understand… I go. I go._   
I painfully dragged myself as far as the tables to be cleared up. Qui-Gon was intent on nibbling at a piece of bread, both elbows resting on the table, a concentrated expression on his face.   
"Padawan, I can't recall the canteen food being so good"   
Obi-Wan just nodded staring at the dish, his mouth full.   
"Yes. It's certainly been the best meal in a fair number of years"   
Two steel eyes darted at me, their intensity softened by an amused expression… In a split second all the dishes gathered in my hands ended up to the ground with a shameful crash.   
Bent on the floor, my hands uncontrollably shaking, I wished I could bury myself under the splinters of my clumsiness.   
That was THE moment. Unexpected, the electricity of his touch broke out through my arm. The first, unforgettable contact.   
"Leave it, Noor. You have already done so much today"   
I don't remember what happened afterwards, but a hazy recollection of Qui-Gon on his knees bustling about to clean up.   
In the absolute confusion which gripped my mind the echo of one single sensible realization: he remembered my name.

§

I know the most secluded corners of the Temple. I think I've dusted every inch of it. And tidied up most of its quarters and halls. I love the smell of cleanness. The scent of a room bathed in the water and in the light…

…His quarters nearly overawed for the semplicity of the furnishing and the reigning order.   
That was the first time I entered his apartment. I didn't know where resting my eyes, torn between voracious curiosity and respect for his privacy.   
_Work first._   
I cleaned with loving care the dusty surfaces of the furniture. Polished bath fixtures and floors. Let fresh air filter through the transparisteel panels. I changed his bed sheets struggling to repress the yearning desire to lie down and hug his pillow.   
_What do we have here?_   
My eye had been drawn by a beige tunic resting on the back of a chair beside his sleeping-couch. I picked it up, went over it inch by inch. A long brown hair had got caught in the weft of the fabric. _His_ hair. Without thinking it over I hid it in a fold of my handkerchief and put it away in the purse where I used to keep the rooms access codes. Then, unable to resist, I dipped my face into the tunic, eagerly breathing in its smell. The scent of his skin was still lingering on the cloth…   
"May I help you?"   
_HIM!_   
He was standing on the threshold, a bag on his shoulder, the shabby look of someone who hadn't slept for several days.   
"I, well, I was told you'd be back tonight… But everything is OK. I cleaned, changed the linen. Your apartment is ready"   
He just nodded. Then shifted his eyes to the tunic still clasped in my arms.   
"This… I think should be washed. I go immediately. I'll get it as good as new"   
"Thank you, that won't be necessary. I can do that"   
_All in all a graceful way to throw me out._   
"Now that I think of it… I believe I have got a few other things to be washed and… I do need rest. Maybe it's time a gentler hand takes care of my clothes"   
Passing a hand thorugh his hair he frowned at the bag dropped on the floor.   
_Master are you asking me to do your laundry?_   
"That's my task. I MEAN: today I'm on duty. I'll see to it. Shouldn't take too long"   
"Good. Another thing. If you have to get in, use your code. I could be… meditating"   
I couldn't help smiling. Then gathered the clothes and quickly made for the door.   
"Noor?"   
"Yes?"   
"Thanks"   
On my return I was welcome by the sound of a deep and rhythmic breathing. I cautiously approached his bedroom, peeped in and gazed at that sleeping figure, lying on one side and hugging the pillow…

Stretched on my bed I long watched the thin brown thread 'stolen' in Qui-Gon's quarters. I liked observing its tints changing according to the light. Slowly a peculiar idea pushed its way through my mind. I recovered in an old case the lock of hair that I had kept since my first days in the Temple, when the medications had made a full shaving of my head necessary. The only thin thread linking me to the unsolvable knots of the past.   
Joining his hair together with mine, I got a thin braid fastened on one end with a blue string and on the other one with a clip. I fixed it behind my right ear and rushed to the mirror.   
_Not bad, Padawan Noor._   
The reflected image stirred up in me a feeling of peace and belonging. I did understand how pathetic was this illusory bond, nevertheless I couldn't get rid of the sensation that it was somehow… right.

I showed my new headdress off without awakening any special interest, beyond a few amused or ironic reactions.   
Until I run into Qui-Gon.   
I met him while walking along the paths of the gardens. He was together with his apprentice. A light nod, a fleeting glance...   
"Padawan, wait a moment"   
He retraced his steps just to get in my way with all his imposing figure. He glided his fingers down my braid. Abruptly the blade of his glare cut through my face.   
"This is the symbol of a deep bond, of a serious life commitment. It is NOT fashion. Or the fancy of a little girl who desperately tries to look what she is NOT"   
The point of no return. My anger exploded like a supernova.   
"You don't understand anything!"   
Tears like acid on my cheeks.   
"You assume you know everything Master Jedi? You do NOT know 'ennathing'. You do us the honour of your presence, lecture us and then disappear. Good, you have got your dose. Now get out of the way. I am NOT your Padawan"   
And to remark my tirade I pulled the braid out of my hair and trew it at his feet.   
Two powerful hands grasped then my shoulders. I could hardly stand up to the stormy intensity of his glare.   
The image of a full slap in the face suddenly formed in my mind. Astonishment. Throughout my stay in the Temple, I had never ever suffered such an intrusion in my psyche.   
His glare continued to burn for a while, then the grip relaxed. Eyes closed to recover a hint of control, his voice almost a whisper.   
"It's exactly what I was trying to tell you"   
I drew back from him and run away, leaving on the ground, together with my braid, the most ravaging sensation of defeat ever experienced.

§

Darkness. Thick, stifling. I start doubting whether my conscience resides in a body.   
"Don't follow me"   
His voice bores through the muffled curtain.   
A dim reflection flickers in his eyes. _Reflection? There's no light here._   
I try to get closer. The faint glimmering of those eyes is like a lighthouse in the sea of anguish.   
"Noor, go. Save yourself"   
_From what? I don't understand. Why I can't see you anymore?_   
A reddish light rends the darkness. There is something malevolent in the way it radiates.   
"Rush, Noor. Hide away"   
A painful necessity resounds in his words. I MUST survive. _Rush!_ The buzz of a lightsabre come to my ears.   
_Noooo!_   
_Rush!_ I can't stop. I think I see a star. No, it's not a star, it's a planet. Emerald green brightness. Like Qui-Gon's Jedi weapon…

A nightmare. Just a nightmare. Nothing happened. I must stop thinking so much about him. It's driving me mad.   
I get out of my bed, my legs still shaking for the insane oneiric rush. I need to cool down.   
I'm bathed in sweat. No… not sweat. I stare at my stomach. Blood soaks my tunic. I must have hurt myself while sleeping. Yes, it must be like that. I undress and wash hysterically my stomach. But there's NO wound. Nor scratches or abrasions. The tunic has come up clean again. I crouch on the floor, head in my hands. I'm really getting mad.

"Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi are back from their mission on Naboo. They've just reported to the Council"   
Ti-eela gazes at me with concern, I must look awful.   
"I just wanted to tell you"   
"How did you get this information?"   
"Well, the usual well-informed sources"   
She smiles faintly but it's just a moment. A worried frown goes back to darkening her expression.   
"Noor, you feel good?"   
"Yes. It's just that I couldn't sleep well. Don't worry"   
"All right, then get back to your feet and take a walk in the east wing. I may be wrong but I think that someone of my acquaintance must still apologize to a venerable Jedi Master…"   
She winks at me and gets out of my apartment letting her two long occipital tentacles wave mischievously.   
I look at her, a new resolve making its way through my mind.   
_No Ti-eela, it's no longer time for pleasant walks._

I stop in front of Qui-Gon's quarters gasping for breath. Before I can activate the call signal, the door swishes open.   
"Come in"   
He's standing with folded arms in front of the window. The full midday light cuts his figure out of a dazzling gold background. Hair resting gently on his powerful shoulders. It seems he has no intention of turning.   
"Obi-Wan is here?"   
"No, strolling about with some friends of the Temple"   
I look round me, searching for a cue. I don't know where starting from.   
_What am I doing here?_   
The idea of a strategic retreat flashes through my mind.   
"What troubles you, Noor?"   
"A dream, Master"   
"A… dream"   
He slightly turns his head aside. I manage to catch a glimpse of a pale, drawn face.   
"Yes. And I feel so foolish… Listen, I do not know anything about premonitory dreams, the best I can do as regards is enlightening you on the relation between sleep disorders and a poor digestion".   
I let out a bitter smile.   
"But this time it's different. You can probe my memories if you want. It was NOT just a dream. I… saw it.   
"What did you see?"   
"Some… menace. Dark, indefinable. You got overhelmed… And darkness, anguish, a blade, red like blood…"   
I can hardly control the tremor in my voice.   
"I'm afraid. I'm afraid that may happen"   
He turns round abruptly, a piercing glance in his eyes. I can almost feel its shock wave.   
I stay still, nailed to his stare, both hands on my lips to prevent further admissions from escaping my mouth.   
"Why do you worry about me? That doesn't seem to be consistent with the feelings you expressed in our last… meeting"   
_He didn't forget.._   
"I don't… Listen, I'm sorry I was so… rude? I'm really sorry. If you only knew…"   
I break off. Try to collect my ideas. I have the impression I don't manage to control this conversation but I'm controlled by it instead.   
"Anyway, this doesn't have anything to do with the reason I'm here for. I've just felt I had to warn you"   
He lowers his eyes following the mysterious track of his thoughts. Shakes his head. Then his glance starts hunting me again, gliding with deliberate slowness up my figure. Takes a few steps: measured but pressing.   
"A courtesy, in other words"   
"Well, from a certain point of view…"   
He stops. A wild light floods his eyes.   
"Enough of these games"   
"Wha…What?"   
"Enough of these games"

He whirls round me like a violent wind. Presses against my body, one arm encircles my waist while his hand cups my nape. He plunges his lips into mine, a light but stubborn pressure. I surrender to his intrusion. Flavour of man: sweet, bitter, spicy.   
Need some air…   
I quiver, my forehead resting on his chin. I can hear his broken breathing, the vain effort to control it.   
"Do you think it's been easy for me, Noor? Sensing your emotions and hardly knowing how handling them. All these years I've perceived your call incessantly. Even on mission, far from the Temple, I've thought I could hear its echo"   
"You knew"   
"The emotions you would project were so intense that I've often feared they could break into the Council room"   
He smiles broadly, it's the first time I see him doing that. Then lays a hand on my cheek his thumb brushing against it.   
"Do you feel… laid bare?"   
"I don't know what to feel"   
"Maybe I can help you"   
I cast him a questioning look.   
"Help to do what? To feel or to understand what I feel?"   
He chuckles.   
"To understand. Would you like?"   
I just nod. I don't have any will left over, but that one of letting myself go.   
A serious, concentrated expression gets hold of his face.   
_My heart is an open book…_   
His words, mere whispers, mingle with light kisses on my forehead, on my eyes, on my cheeks.   
"I can sense trepidation… surprise… a hint of irritation…"   
Through my skin I can feel his lips bending in a smile.   
"… and desire. Breathless… No it's more longing for connection, completeness. But there is doubt as well and… fear"   
For a while he seems to ponder on his own words.   
"What do you want, Noor?"   
His eyes look feverishly for an answer. I can feel the subtle tentacles of his mind probe making their way through my defenses.   
"What do YOU want Qui-Gon Jinn?"   
He shuts his eyes closed. The force of his embrace makes me disappear into his arms… I don't know whether it's desperation or relief or embarassment . All that, maybe, and more.   
"For too many years I've been trying to resist this… wave. I deliberately ignored the call of the Force as I assumed I could mistake its will for the natural desires of a man destined to a bondless life. I was wrong. Now I know it"   
He gently lifts my chin with a forefinger.   
"Look at me, Noor. What I want is you"   
My emotions pulverize as a kaleidoscope of snowflakes bathed in the sun.   
He picks me up into his arms and lays me down on the edge of his couch. I shake to the bone. He is about to say something but a flash of understanding makes useless any word. He lets his fingers slide through my hair, hugs me lightly rocking, as to craddle me.   
"Is that what troubles you? The fear of the unknown?"   
I feel my cheeks blushing and hide my face into his embrace.   
"I am here, Noor. You are not alone"   
He shakes his head, a faint chuckle echoes through his broad chest.   
"This old wizard doesn't deserve such a devotion"   
Move my face away from its shelter and kiss me again, gently at beginning, then with mounting heat. His lips trace out a course down the sensitive spots of my neck. He stops, I can feel his warm breath close to my ear.   
"Are you sure you want it?"   
"Yes, Master"   
"Noor, I'm not your Master"   
I seize the opportunity.   
"And I am NOT your Padawan"

He leads me by the hand on the primitive path of the man and the woman. Looking after my clumsy gait, holding me up stumble by stumble.   
I untie his hair so that they can join his hands in dancing on my skin. I kiss him, every kiss as it was the last one.   
_Your body is a hymn to the beauty, my love._   
I delicately open and blossom round him like a flower. And he becomes man in me. Neither Master nor Jedi. Just man.   
There's no longer 'I', no longer 'you'. Breath, skin, sweat. That's not a dream. For an instant only 'we' exist.

He trembles and so does his glance.   
_Follow me, Noor, let me guide you._   
His invitation resounds clearly in my mind but no word has been uttered.   
Old recollections start to flow. I fade away into their course and regress till I enter the unconscious domains, where lies the ancestral memory of the self…

...My ears ache. An explosion. Acrid smell of burning. Moans die out in a smokescreen that shrouds and confuse everything. I'm chilling. Frozen water on me. No, not water. Salty, like tears… Red, like blood. Enough! Get me out of here. Please… please. You take me into your arms. Firm, powerful but animated by a painful sweetness. You wrap them around me and craddle me. How odd, this is my first memory of a physical contact with another being. The only one that can hint at the peace of a mother caress…

"What you see is planet Telos. The bloody civil war sparked by Crion's thirst for power. Crion's and his son's… Xanatos, my second apprentice. My ultimate failure. I still can't…"   
He leaves his words hunging in the air. Walls no longer breathe. He glances out of the transparisteel panel. Thousands of crafts jam Coruscant airways: they cross their paths, almost collide. In the blink of an eye they are already rushing away, each on its own way.   
_Are you looking for answers, my love? Or just for the right words?_   
He looks back at me. The warm light of the early afternoon gives his eyes a transparent shade.   
_Or is it tears?_   
"It's nothing compared with what he did to you…"   
Only a whisper.   
I blink. Tears are stinging. And memories along. The past coils the present up. That first contact blends in with this very embrace. That former rage with the wild fire that has always been blazing in my life. Finally I can see the circle of the events. The way of things… the way of the Force. Such an ineluctability frightens me.   
"That day was a day of death. Hundreds of victims after the last clash. The death of Crion… pierced by my sabre. The death of my trust and hope after Xanatos had given himself up to the dark side.   
When I found your body I thought I was going to choke, overwhelmed by that feeling of death. You were still, cold. Your eyes wide, dull. I could hardly feel your presence through the Force. I picked you up into my arms and craddled you till you closed your eyes. For a moment I was afraid that…"   
His pauses ooze with suffering.   
"But that wasn't the end. You had just fallen asleep"   
He turns on his back letting me lie on his body.   
"It was you. It's always been you"   
He brushes his fingertips against my back but doesn't reply.   
"And what about my dreams… did they come from… you too?"   
It's not a question. Slowly the puzzle of my life takes shape.   
"That was the most intuitive way to communicate with a child. I would project reassuring emotions and soothing images to dispel the nightmares that'd keep you awake at night… That'd keep me awake. Later on it became a… habit. A sort of confidential channelI"   
I shake my head. Open my eyes and catch a glimpse of that typical faint smile tempered by… modesty? Humility? Amused awareness?   
A question, which I've never attached any importance to, gets suddenly pressing.   
"Why didn't you tell me anything?"   
"I guess at the beginning I didn't want to be a father in… hiding. Absent. Then, as years went by, I definitely gave up the idea of being a father"   
And to remark this statement he runs his hands through my hips up to the breast.   
"I feel guilty, Noor. Not about being indirect responsible for destroying your family, for upsetting your life. But about never having stopped thanking the Force for letting me find you. About having enjoied your presence in my life. About not having managed to contrast your powerful and desperate call. Yet I can't sense darkness in this feeling. Nothing happens by accident"   
That ineluctability again…   
"Talk to me through my dreams Qui-Gon… Once again"   
He turns on one side, helping me into a more comfortable position.   
"You don't need it anymore Noor, you don't need it anymore…"   
The warmth of his embrace becomes a nest round my body. I stare hard at him till the weight of the emotions burdens my eyelids. The last thing I remember is the thin trickle of a tear through his face.

He didn't tell me anything. Sunset dragged him away together with the last light of the day. I didn't look for him. The Nubian that had brought him back home crossed the night sky of Coruscant with a blazing farewell.   
For some strange reason I know he is up there. Maybe I've started to distrust coincidences…   
I feel cold. Anger. Fear.   
_Is that what you leave me with Qui-Gon? The worst nightmare of a Jedi? The hell of the dark side._   
I look about me. Maybe I've dreamt everything. But for the fact that my skin is still keeping the essence of his own. That my body is still wailing recalling its first embrace. But for that thin thread of braided hair resting on his pillow beside a holocard.   
I recognize it. How might I be wrong? The realization that he's been keeping it for such a long time makes me breathless. Surprising man. With shaking hands I graze it, touch it, grip it. What did you want to tell me, Master? What did you want to talk about? About the interlacement of destinies? Of feelings? Of responsabilities?   
The holorecorder is in stand by mode. I switch it on, hardly standing the wait. I don't manage to get rid of this dark foreboding.   
In front on me the ghostly image of a man of whom just a few hours ago I could feel the hearth beating. His hands rest inside the large sleeves of his robe, his glance is clear, determined but tinged with a liquid shade of sadness.   
I close my eyes and let myself go at the sound of his voice: "The Force frequently follows mysterious paths, Noor. My love for you is one of the most tortuous and rousing I have ever undertaken…"

§

"Leave you must. Now. Protecting his legacy imperative it is. And honour it. Dark clouds on the horizon gather. Yes, hide away. Well you can do that. In the darkness your dreams keep on cherish. May the Force be with you"   
Yoda's dismissal. The ultimate.   
I look at the Temple one last time, before my transport's departure for Corellia.   
I can't stop thinking about Qui-Gon, the void his death has left in this place. HE was my home. I've realized it too late.   
_You knew everything, my love. That docile submission to the will of the Force. That trust in its guidance. You knew… But I lack your faith. I'm afraid I won't make it. Maybe I'm not ready to embrace my destiny. Yoda was right. Maybe I've never been worthy of you…_   
A tear, then another one and one more. I thought I had already shed all of them.   
I shelter in that place of hopes where so many times I'd daydream his hug. A warm breeze dances with my hair.   
_Is it you my love? Are you still with me? Or am I just dreaming?_

Go, Noor Madine. Protect what he left behind. The Force will be with you. Qui-Gon will be with you. Always.

§

**Sullust, 36 years later.**   
**'Home One' Rebels flagship.**

General Crix Madine lingers with folded arms in front of the viewport in his quarters, his look lost in the space vastness.   
The Alliance fleet is gathering on the eve of the attack to the second Death Star orbiting the wooded moon of Endor.   
The General's eyes, flooded with the metal reflections of the hulls, are like choppy sea in a moonlit night.   
He's aware of the disproportion between the forces on the field. He knows too well the Empire firepower. But doesn't want to yield to depression. He can't allow himself to do that. Not now. Not in this moment.   
He looks back at the last frantic months.   
He's thought up a plan to destroy the shield generators that defend the deadly battle station. Has provided the Alliance with the imperial shuttle Tydirium which is going to land a rebel commando on the green moon. He's looked after the training of its members personally…   
An odd feeling of quiet floods his soul. The calm before the storm. Or just the serene determination of a man at last at peace with his own conscience.   
He sits back at his desk. His fingers brush against the thin bracelet round his right wrist. Usually a mechanical movement. But not this time.   
He turns to the past, as he's always done in crucial moments. A natural reflex for one forced from birth to deal with absences rather than presences, with legacies rather than hopes on the future.   
He runs through the path of his life again. _Nothing happens by accident._ His lips bend in a faint smile.   
He thinks back over the years in the special corps of the Empire. The quest of the self through the experience of hell. The scream of anguish of countless innocent victims. The discovery of the pressing voice of conscience. The decision to desert, the price paid. Passion and compassion: legacy of his parents.   
For a moment the memory of Karreio resurfaces. Karreio. His loved one, left after deserting to protect her from reprisals. The curse of a love which sacrifice closeness for a greater good: this too, maybe, legacy of his origins…   
The beep of his comlink projects him into the present time.   
"General Madine, you are awaited in the briefing room"   
With deliberate slowness he wears a pair of black gloves. The thin section of braid which encircles his wrist is safe again from prying eyes.   
_Now look at me, father._   
He makes for the exit. Suddenly he stops. Turns slightly his head, a piercing glance in the eyes, as if listening to a whisper of the Force. Then he starts walking again and vanishes with gentle evanescence…

**END**

_Feedback is welcome, but not too "wude", please: I'm from the Outer Rim and don't fully master basic ;)_   
Jinna@sabermail.com


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